I bit down onto my bottom lip to keep from kissing him. Because if he pushed me away from that kiss, I wouldn't be able to bear it. I looked away, trying to shake his grip. But he held my chin harder, keeping my face pointed toward his.
“Clint--”
“Stop fighting me and look at me, Raelynn.”
I snickered. “Don’t use my full name like that.”
“I’ll do whatever it takes to get your attention.”
“Even doing something I don’t like, Clinton?”
His eye twitched. “Why are you intentionally trying to hurt me?”
I furrowed my brow. “What?”
“You have to know how much this is hurting me. You’re pushing me away and it’s killing me inside. Why are you doing it?”
“I--you--what are--?”
“I know you, Rae. Sometimes better than you know yourself. And I know you’re actively aware of how much you’re pushing against me. How much space you’re putting between us. You’re smarter than that. Even if you refuse to see it, you know it’s there. Staring us in the face. The gap that keeps widening because you won’t talk.”
Dread filled my gut. “I’m sorry.”
“I don’t want you to be sorry. I want you to change it. Sorry only covers up so much. And I’m begging you, damn it. Let me in. Talk to me. I mean, how the hell can I be there for you if you won’t let me in?”
His hand moved to my cheek. He cupped it, and I nuzzled against his palm, feeling his calluses and the warmth of his skin. My eyes closed and I sighed with relief, stealing the bit of comfort he provided me. My heart broke. It shattered into a million pieces on the floor. I knew he was right. I knew I was pushing him away. And yet, I had no idea how to stop it.
Other than to talk, of course.
“Have I made a mistake with school?”
It came out as nothing but a whisper. But I knew he heard it. His hand tensed and he raised my head up, forcing my eyes back open. And when I found his stare, I felt rooted to my seat.
“Do you think you’ve made a mistake, Rae?”
I shook my head. “I-I-I--I don’t know. I mean, you saw the mixed signals Mom sent me. How proud she sounds when she talks about me going to college, then how hard she pushes me to stay home.”
“And we both know why that is.”
“Yeah. I know. But--I mean, I love English. Don’t get me wrong. It’s the only subject I don’t suck balls at. And kids are great. I could be around them for the rest of my life. But…”
He smoothed his thumb over my cheek. “But?”
I sighed. “I don’t know if Mom actually wants this for me. And I mean, if she doesn’t, what if she fights me all the way through school? Or moves closer and wants me to live with her? She’d pull that shit, you know. Selling the house just to move closer to campus to keep me on her leash. And that would be torture, you know? But I don’t know if I could tell her no. And this degree? English, teaching kids? I don’t know if it’s what I want to do. I’ve always loved graphic design. So did I choose that just because they only have a graphic design major? And if I did, is it worth taking at least a semester off to find a school where I can get a full degree in it? And then, there’s the fucking scholarships. One year paid in full to help me with grades that will enable me to apply for more scholarships. Because fuck only knows Mom doesn’t have the money to put me through school. And what if I give that up to wait a year and it’s not there? Then I’m stuck with no way to pay for school. At least right now, I have a year to think shit through while I’m getting requirements out of the way. But what if I get into the graphic design classes and don’t even like those? What the hell am I going to do then? I don’t have anything else I enjoy. I don’t have anything else I’m good at. Why the fuck do I have to have my life figured out by the time I’m eighteen? Why can’t I at least be able to drink first!?”
The more I spoke, the quicker the words came. And by the time I was done, I panted for air. Clint’s eyes widened as his hand slid down my neck, cupping my shoulder before leaning back against his car window.
“Wow. Okay.”
I collapsed against my seat. “I know.”
I hid my face in my hands and tried to hold back my tears.
“I know, I know. I’m an idiot. I’m an indecisive, anxious idiot. Talk about first world problems, right?”
“Hey, hey, hey. Come on, now. You’re far from an idiot.”
“I feel like an idiot.”